


Miracle

by RoseThornhill



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e18 Milagro, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, atths, pop tarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseThornhill/pseuds/RoseThornhill
Summary: Set immediately following "Milagro," Mulder cares for a scared and injured Scully. ATTHS





	Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first naughty MSR fic. Set immediately following "Milagro," one of my favorite episodes. I was always struck by how emotionally vulnerable Scully was. I generally believe that "all things" was, canonically, Mulder & Scully's first night together, but this just kind of flowed.
> 
> Always looking for a better title if you have any ideas.

Scully didn't know how long she had been on the floor. She woke with a scream, a deep pain in her chest, and Mulder standing over her, terror on his face. It was too much for her. She burst into tears. Deep, guttural sobs that wracked her entire body. She clung to Mulder, terrified he would prove to be a hallucination. He was the only truth in her life.

Mulder could do nothing but hold her, rock her, stroke her hair. He had never heard her cry like this. Not after Donnie Pfaster; not after her cancer diagnosis. There was something panicked in her voice this time; something primal. It dawned on Mulder: Scully had let her defenses down. This wasn't Agent Scully, cracked by a case; nor was it Doctor Scully, overwhelmed by a medical diagnosis. This was Dana Scully. A woman, albeit a strong woman, but one who can break like any other.

He thought about what he had read of Padgett's book, the "insight" he had into Scully. The concern that she would be considered soft, or a brainless beauty; yet being seen as a woman was what she needed to become "feral." Scully's confession to him that she found Padgett "frightening" only suggested that she found his description of her to be true.

But then Mulder thought about what Padgett had said in the jail. "Agent Scully is already in love." That could only be one person, right? Now probably wasn't the time to bring up the pretty - if pretentious - words of a stalker, but he couldn't let it go. Mulder's mind was racing, like a dozen radios, all tuned to different channels. He couldn't focus on any one station, so he focused on her. In his arms, crying. She clawed at him, as if trying to climb inside of him. He held her closer and tried to shut off the radios in his head.

When Scully's tears abated, Mulder finally pulled away so he could look at her. Her piercing blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed. Her face was flushed; her cheeks were sticky with tears. All he wanted to do was kiss her; to scoop her up in his arms and carry her off to his bed; make love to her all night, all day; take away her pair and fear.... But he didn't want to take advantage. So instead he went with the tried and true "Are you okay?"

"Well, I feel as though someone tried to pull my heart out of my chest." Her voice was tight, fragile, but she still cracked a joke. Mulder carefully got her to her feet. She took a few wobbly steps, the stumbled. Mulder helped her to the couch.

"Mulder, what happened?" she asked weakly.

"I was hoping you could tell me," he said gently.

"All I remember is a man in a hood..."

"Padgett?"

"No... I don't think so. But he reached into my chest--" Panic returned to Scully's face as she struggled to sit up and unbutton her bloody blouse. Mulder looked away respectfully, until he heard her squeaking in discomfort. He looked to her and saw her fumbling painfully with the few intact buttons.

"Here, let me," Mulder said, gently unbuttoning Scully's blouse and trying to keep his eyes off the delicate lace underneath. _This is purely scientific_.

"Well? Is it... what is it?" Scully realized she didn't know what she was expecting to find.

Mulder took a steadying breath and looked to her chest, expecting to see a big, gaping wound. But instead, the skin was smooth and unbroken. A little blotchy, would probably result in a vicious bruise, but otherwise she looked fine. On the outside.

"It looks... fine," he said, mystified.

"It sure doesn't feel 'fine,'" she lamented, wincing in pain.

"Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

She shakes her head gently. "What would I say? That a man may or may not have tried to pull my heart out of my chest with his bare hands? Besides," she reasoned, "it feels like it is just a few bruised ribs. There's nothing they can do for that anyway."

Mulder nodded. He didn't believe her, but he knew better than to argue with Dr. Scully. "Then stay here tonight," he insisted. "Just in case."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a look of relief pass over her face. "Thanks. I... I don't think I want to go home tonight."

 _She's scared and injured, of course she doesn't want to go home_ , Mulder told himself. _Lay down and never leave!_ he wanted to say. Instead, he helped walk her into the bedroom. She was unsteady, winded, and moved in pain. He helped her onto the bed and offered her a T-shirt in exchange for her torn, bloody blouse. She accepted it and changed without any modesty. Nervously, he sat down beside her, careful to leave his feet on the floor - Hays Code approved.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence stretched into minutes. "You get some rest," he said softly and moved off the bed. This triggered Scully, who sat up sharply - or tried.

"No!" she begged. "Please... don't leave." Her voice sounded so tiny, so scared. Mulder ached to take away her fear. The best he could do was what she asked. He stayed.

Mulder settled into bed beside her, not too close, hoping she wouldn't feel his anxiety - or his semi-erect penis. She reached blindly for him; he took her hand into his. "Sing for me," she asked, "so I know you are still there." Mulder smiled at the memory of their night, lost in the forest a few years ago.

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog," he sang softly. Scully smiled. She was in on the joke.

He stopped singing when he was sure she was asleep, but didn't let go of her hand.

***

Mulder didn't remember falling asleep, but the weak rays of morning light teased him awake. Scully was still asleep, still clutching his hand. He smiled and kissed it gently. _Our first night together. Other than the looming presence of death, not a bad one_. He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. She stirred, her eyes slowly blinking open.

"Good morning," Mulder said, trying to keep his voice light.  
Scully smiled at him warmly, like waking up in bed next to her platonic partner was the most natural thing in the world. She tried to sit up, but was stopped by the pain. The events of last night flooded back and threatened to overwhelm her again.

Mulder sensed the worry and fear and tried to cut it off before it began. "Everything is fine," he promised. "You are safe."

Scully nodded and tried to sit up again, this time succeeding after taking care not to go too fast. Mulder watched her, and a range of emotions seemed to pass over her. She seemed to realize, for the first time, that she was in Mulder's bed, half undressed, after begging him to stay with her last night. A gentle flush crept up her cheeks. Not entirely because she was wearing his shirt, he suspected, but because she wasn't used to being so vulnerable around anyone... especially Mulder.

"Um, where is my shirt?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

The embarrassment was contagious.

"It was torn and bloodied. I threw it away."

She nodded. Seemed reasonable.

Another uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them.

"Why don't you take a shower?" he offered. "I'll see if I can rustle up some breakfast."

She smiled gratefully at him. He smiled back.

Mulder went into the kitchen, looking for something that would make an acceptable breakfast. He didn't have much: Pop-Tarts and some Eggos of questionable age. He decided Pop-Tarts was the safer bet. For her, he would even toast them.

Once he was sure she was in the shower, Mulder went into the bedroom and laid out a clean T-shirt and pair of boxers for her to put on. From the bathroom, he could hear whimpering, and he became concerned.

"Scully? Are you ok?"

The whimpering stopped, but there was pain in her voice. "Yeah, Mulder, I'm fine."

He didn't believe her, but out of respect, he left her alone.

Until he heard a tortured cry and a loud thud. Respectability be damned. He went into the bathroom and found Scully curled up tightly on the floor of the shower. "What happened?"

"I think he fractured my ribs," she said, clearly out of breath. "The water hit my chest...." She didn't need to say anything else. He'd had fractured ribs before. The showerhead always managed to hit in the worst spot.

Mulder grabbed a towel and draped it gently over her naked body before helping her up. _It's just like Antarctica_ , he told himself, trying to keep himself respectable. Of course, back then, fear and sub-zero temperatures kept him from getting hard.

He helped her back to the bed, and she sank down wearily. Mulder sat beside her, if only to hide the raging hard-on that wouldn't seem to go away. It didn't make it any easier that Scully didn't seem particularly concerned about how much her towel covered. So Mulder stared straight ahead.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" he asked, secretly looking for any excuse to get her dressed. She shook her head.

Awkward silence. Then: "Pop-Tarts!" Mulder exclaimed, grabbing the plate off the bedside table.

Scully smiled. "I haven't had these since college. And I've never had them heated up before." She studied them for a second, then chose one of the brown sugar Pop-Tarts.

 _I love you_ , Mulder thought before taking the same flavor for himself. "How have you never had them heated before?" he said instead.

Scully shrugged. "I never had time to grab a proper meal, so I just had these in my book bag."

Silence settled between them, less awkward because they had Pop-Tarts to eat. _Just say something_ , the little voice in Mulder's head insisted. _You almost kissed that one time... probably would have if not for that damned bee...._

Out of nowhere, Scully's lips were on his. Mulder was stunned, but submitted easily to her delicate, tentative kiss. She started to pull away, but Mulder put more intensity into his side - and Scully reciprocated. _She tastes like brown sugar_.

When they finally separated, Mulder was speechless - he just had a dazed, goofy grin on his face. Scully blushed.

"I'm sorry," she said, refusing to look him in the eye.

He tilted her chin towards him, forcing her to hold his gaze. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for."

She blushed again, then continued. "I have faced death more times than I care to count. We both have. But there was something about last night... it felt closer than ever. More real than ever." He still held her chin, and she cast her eyes downward. "I just... I didn't want to die without knowing what it was like to kiss you."

Mulder laughed, which made Scully blush more deeply. "Scully, I have been trying to figure out how to tell you I love you for months."

"Really?"

He nods.

"So, after the incident with the Queen Anne....?"

"I meant every word of it."

"I thought it was just all the painkillers you were on!"

"Nope. I was high on you."

Scully laughed a little louder than the cheesy joke deserved, but the laughter was a desperately needed release. Mulder still had the goofy grin on his face - he suspected it would be there for a long, long time.

Feeling emboldened, Mulder cupped Scully's face in his hands and leaned in. Their lips met slowly, softly, both fully present in the act. They took their time, enjoying discovering each other's lips.

At some point, their tongues met and the kissing became deeper, more intense. Mulder didn't know who instigated it; he didn't care. What he was aware of was Scully leaning back on the bed, gently urging Mulder to follow her. He wanted nothing more than to follow, but he was nervous. The gentleman in him won over his physical needs, and he pulled away from Scully's soft, plump lips.

"Are you sure about this, Scully? I don't want to take advantage of the situation... and you are injured..."

"Mulder, shut up."

He smiled and followed her down to the surface of the bed, where he resumed kissing her. He brushed his fingers over her arms softly - then realized she was still wrapped loosely in the towel. A jolt shot through him when he realized his fingers were brushing against the creamy skin of her breast. He stayed there a few minutes before he grew bolder and inched his fingers towards her nipple. His fingers grazed the taut peak, and Scully shivered at his touch. He drew lazy circles around her nipple, and Scully moaned. It was faint, like a secret moan meant for him and only him. He almost came right there.

Mulder was so distracted by Scully's breasts that he didn't even realize he had lost most of his clothes. Scully raked her nails lightly up and down his back, and Mulder felt like he was going to burst. He started to make his way on top of her, but stopped when Scully gasped. Unlike her moan from a few minutes ago, this was a pained gasp. Her ribs.

"I'm so sorry, Scully. I totally forgot--"

"It's okay," she assured him. "I forgot too."

Mulder sat back and looked at her. The towel had long since been discarded, and he wanted to take her in. She was a vision. Flawless skin. Rosy nipples. A neatly trimmed swatch of red hair that covered what he wanted most.

He leaned in again, kissing her lightly on the lips before moving down her neck. He was extra-gentle when he reached the valley between her breasts, purple and bruised. His hot breath against her sensitive nipples was enough to make Scully moan again. Mulder was certain this was a moan of pleasure, not a gasp of pain, so he continued.

"Mulder, it's okay. We can do this another time." She sounded supremely disappointed, a sound Mulder never wanted to hear.

"Or," he said tantalizingly as he kissed his way down her stomach, "you can just relax and enjoy this." Scully didn't have it in her to complain; she followed Mulder's instructions as he moved between her legs.

He started tortuously slow, kissing her inner thighs. She sighed appreciatively. He could smell her arousal and it took every ounce of strength for Mulder not to pounce. Instead, he kissed his way up her thighs, slowly... slowly... finally, he reached his destination.

Maintaining his slow approach, he delicately licked her lips, puffy and slick with desire. She moaned as his tongue teased her open. All self-control flew out the window when he tasted her, sweet and salty like caramel. He lapped slowly along her slit, paying special attention to her clitoris on every pass. She must have liked it. Her mewls grew more intense with every twitch of his tongue; with every graze of his teeth.

She was grinding into him now, her whimpers a blend of pleasure and pain. When he tried to back off, fearing he was hurting her, her fingers found their way into his hair, pressing his head deeper into her. "Don't stop," she gasped.

So he didn't. He focused in on her clit, which throbbed beneath his skillful ministrations. His strokes became stronger as she clutched his head tighter. Cautiously, he worked his tongue deeper into her, penetrating her. Her moans quickened, and Mulder increased his pace to keep up with her. A pleasurable squeal, a flush of moisture, and she was spent. Mulder wasn't quite ready to leave the warmth between her legs, so he remained a few minutes more, gently kissing her trembling sex.

A gentle tug on his hair, and he crawled up beside her, holding her close. She nuzzled up to him as best she could.

"Thank you," she said softly. "But you...."

"Don't worry about me," he whispered, stroking her hair. "This was all about you." A beat. "I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked nervously.

"It was worth it," she responded dreamily. That wasn't a no, and that made Mulder worry. But she was already halfway asleep, and he took that as a good sign. She needed her rest.

Mulder had a problem on his mind. Does he slip out of bed to take care of the erection he has had most of the day? Or does he stay in bed, holding Scully, who was fast asleep in his arms? He looked down at Scully and smiled. She hadn't looked this relaxed in days. He brushed back her hair and gave her a kiss on the forehead. It wasn't even a choice. Mulder wouldn't move for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> The Hays Code was an early self-censoring system in Hollywood films, before the MPAA ratings. One of the code "rules" was that, any time two characters were sitting on a bed, at least one character must have both their feet flat on the ground.


End file.
